LITMIR.BIZ

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registering that something wasn’t right.

      She wasn’t in her bed. She realized that even before her eyes started flitting around the room. No, this four-poster bed was most definitely not her own. Just as panic was about to set in, she remembered that she was in Cleveland, not Fort Lauderdale. Of course she wasn’t in her bed.

      But even as she remembered that, the sense that something was wrong persisted. Because she couldn’t remember ever stepping into Callie and Nigel’s house, much less getting under the covers.

      And something else was strange. By the way the bedsheet was skimming her body, she could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra. She’d been so exhausted that she had taken off her clothes and climbed into bed without even putting on her nightgown?

      It was as if her brain had gone blank. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to concentrate. She was in Cleveland. She’d been at Deanna’s wedding, which had been last night. Yes, that was right. Callie had forced her onto the dance floor to participate in the bouquet toss.

      Tamara’s eyes popped open. The bouquet. Marshall. Their dance.

      Then she’d gone to the restroom, and he’d followed her.

      And then, a kiss? She gasped. Oh, God. No, that couldn’t be right.

      As her stomach fluttered with the wisp of a memory, she wondered why the house was so quiet. The clock on the night table told her it was 9:18 a.m. Shouldn’t Michael and Kwame be up and making noise?

      Tamara surveyed the large bedroom, with its pale green walls, dresser with mirror and...fireplace? Nigel and Callie had a spare bedroom with a fireplace? The TV mounted to the wall was at least forty inches. There was a leather love seat beside the window, and through the sheer drapes she could see a sprawling tree outside.

      The room boasted polished hardwood floors. But nowhere upon them did she see her suitcases.

      She looked around the room again, this time with a sense of desperation. It was minimalist in terms of the furnishings and the decor. Spotting a framed photo on the far corner of the dresser, her eyes soon widened in alarm.

      Was that Marshall?

      Where was she?

      The next second, her stomach filled with dread as she added up the reality in her mind. Marshall’s picture, the lack of suitcases, the absence of any voices...

      No, it couldn’t be...

      She couldn’t actually be in Marshall’s bed!

      Her brain scrambled to make sense of the situation. The wedding. The reception. Flirting with Marshall.

      “Oh, God,” she uttered in horror. She remembered the kiss again. She had kissed him. Oh, yes, that had definitely happened. She remembered her mouth connecting with his full lips. It hadn’t been the longest kiss, but she felt it throughout her entire body.

      What had happened after that kiss?

      And why was she in his bed without her clothes on?

      “God, please tell me I didn’t. Please tell me I didn’t do something incredibly stupid!”

      But she was beginning to fear that she had. If she had come into this bed merely to sleep, wouldn’t her dress be neatly draped over that rocking chair? She couldn’t see it anywhere.

      Finally, she bent her head to look over the side of the bed. And her mortification intensified. Because there was her dress, in a heap on the floor. As though it had been discarded haphazardly.

      “I can’t possibly be...”

      And then for some reason, she craned her neck to look over her shoulder. And on the wall she saw a photo of Marshall with his parents and brother. A family portrait.

      There was no longer any doubt. She was in Marshall’s house.

      In his room.

      In his bed.

      Her horror level reached a 10.0 on the Richter scale.

      Oh God, oh God, oh God! What have I done?

      The house was still quiet, and Tamara prayed that Marshall was in a bathroom somewhere. If she could get up quietly, she could sneak out of the house.

      She threw the covers off of the queen-size bed and slipped her legs over the side. As her feet came down on the floor, the hardwood squeaked. She winced, hoping that she didn’t get Marshall’s attention—wherever he was in the house. Because she had to get out of there without him knowing.

      She didn’t even know where he lived in relation to Callie and Nigel, but she would find her way somehow. Maybe Marshall was the type who had to work out every morning, and that was where he was now. If so, all the better.

      She couldn’t face him.

      She’d been in his bed. And she knew what Marshall did with women in his bed. Even if she hadn’t heard the salacious stories, the fact that her dress had been tossed onto the floor spoke volumes.

      But why couldn’t she remember anything? Somehow, she had lost time. She remembered... She remembered nothing. The kiss, yes.

      But certainly not a hot night between the sheets.

      She quickly scooped her dress up from the floor and slipped it onto her body. Then she reached for the zipper on the side and pulled it up. The mauve dress with swirls of white had looked incredibly sexy on her when she’d put it on, and that had been what she’d needed. As a newly divorced woman, she’d wanted to look feminine and desirable.

      And she had—to Marshall. Had this very dress led her down the path of temptation and into this dilemma? She had wanted to reclaim her womanhood. Had she done that and more?

      And with Marshall, of all people?

      Tamara opened the bedroom door and peered into the house at large, finding that she was in the hallway. On the opposite side she saw that the door to another bedroom was open. It was much larger, with a king-size poster bed, and far more photos on the wall. Clearly, that was Marshall’s master bedroom.

      Realizing that she hadn’t been in his bed should have given her comfort. But it didn’t. Because his bed was immaculately spread and didn’t look as though it had been slept in last night.

      She swallowed and then stepped to her left, toward the top of a staircase. The staircase opened up to a two-story ceiling, with a large skylight. Sunlight flooded into the house, almost like a spotlight on her as she made her way down the stairs. The steps creaked, and she tried to tiptoe without making much sound but it was pointless.

      Where was Marshall? In another bedroom? She didn’t hear the shower.

      The house appeared massive, with a huge great room off of the foyer. She could see the brown-leather sectional, with decorative throw pillows, in front of a wall that housed a television that looked to be sixty inches. As she stepped onto the first-floor landing, she could see part of a dining-room table in a room that sprang from the left of the foyer. The wood was black, probably black maple, and the room had majestic gold-colored curtains topped with cream swags. It was the kind of house Tamara would love to explore, but given the circumstances, she just wanted to get out as quickly as possible.

      Tamara’s feet were cold on the marble floor, but thank God her silver stiletto sandals were neatly sitting on a mat near the door. And she saw her purse on the table in the foyer. At least she would have her phone to call for a taxi and money to pay for it.

      A house like this would have an alarm, and she only prayed that it wasn’t currently set. The small alarm panel was closer to the door, so she hurried over to it and perused it, determining with relief that it didn’t appear to be activated.

      She bent over and slipped her bare foot into one shoe. She was putting on the second shoe when the door began to open. Her heart spasmed.

      In walked Marshall. As though he had walked into his house to greet her in the morning countless times, he smiled an easy, charming smile. Was that

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